Sticky Fingers: An Enemies To Lovers Romantic Comedy

by Starr, Tara

  “They say that since she doesn’t seem to care about the painting, that she...well, she might be trying to defraud the insurance company. The only reason I didn’t kill every single member of the condo board was because Daphne didn’t let me do it.”

  “Fuck.”

  “Yeah, this is serious. Malcolm...if you know who took the painting, there’s no other way around it. You’ll have to give them up.”

  Oh, God. I knew that this shit with the painting would eventually bite us in the ass, but I didn’t think it would happen so soon. Now even Daphne is being accused! And all because of me.

  All because I was an idiot who wanted to have fun.

  Karma’s a real bitch.

  Everything was simpler when I was younger. There were no consequences, and I was smart enough to make sure things stayed that way.

  Growing up, I had all the money I needed, and the whole world always bent over to satisfy every single one of my needs. A snap of my fingers, and things fell exactly where I wanted them to fall.

  Eventually, I grew bored of that.

  Moving in the shadows, stealing highly-guarded paintings, and cutting risky deals in fancy backrooms… Now, that provided all the excitement I could’ve ever wanted. And, as always, I never had to face the consequences that would come out of turning into a criminal.

  I acted like a spoiled child, and now I’m paying for it.

  Play stupid games, win stupid prizes.

  There’s a long moment of silence, when neither Malcolm or Dominic say a thing. Malcolm’s the first to break the silence.

  “I can’t do that,” he merely says, and he does it in a way that leaves no room for doubt...

  Malcolm knows who took the painting. He knows it’s me—he has always known—and he’s willing to risk everything he fought for to protect me.

  “Fuck me,” Dominic replies, his tone of voice brimming with frustration.

  For a moment, I almost think they’re going to start arguing. But then, Dominic surprises me.

  “Alright, man...you must have your reasons, and I sure as fuck am not going to question them. But whoever you’re trying to protect, it doesn’t change the facts. We need to figure out a way out of this mess.”

  “Trust me, I know that,” Malcolm says, and then I hear footsteps echoing in the living room.

  When I hear the front door opening, I rush back to bed and pull the sheets over my head.

  Christ, I wish I could just close my eyes, sleep, and wait for all this to blow over. But there’s no escaping reality, is there? And I know that despite Malcolm’s words, he can’t fix this for me.

  No one can.

  Shit! I’m this close to being happy, to have the man I love by my side...and now this fucking painting is hanging over our heads like a damn guillotine.

  “Sonia?” Malcolm asks as he walks into the room.

  Slowly, I peek over the sheets.

  I can’t even help it.

  The moment my eyes meet his, the tears start streaming down my face.

  I really fucked up, haven’t I?

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Malcolm

  Well, this situation couldn’t have been any more fucked up. It’s like a twisted author writing a climactic finish to an otherwise funny romance novel.

  I mean, leave it to Dominic to ruin my morning. As cool of a guy as he might be, he sure has some fucking bad timing.

  He could’ve waited till I had lunch or some shit, but no. He had to come running and deliver the fucking bad news to my doorstep. I could be enjoying a morning in bed with Sonia, but no—now, I have that fucking issue with the painting hanging on my mind.

  Still, I don’t give a fuck.

  No matter what Dominic says, no matter what’s hanging in the balance...they’re fucking insane if they think I’m going to turn Sonia in to keep my condo at Clarendon Tower. Blackmail me at gunpoint and still I wouldn’t do it.

  I’d take a bullet for that woman. I’d give my whole fucking life for her.

  Think that shit with the strip clubs is as far as I’m willing to go? Well, you’re fucking mistaken. I’m willing to go as far as is needed.

  If I have to declare war on the whole fucking world, that’s exactly what I’m gonna fucking do.

  As I let Dominic out and close the door behind him, I take a deep breath and pray to God that Sonia hadn’t listened to anything. She’s always so fucking worried about Detective Strong and that fucking painting.

  If she listened to anything Dominic said, she’s gonna be freaking the fuck out.

  Stepping inside the bedroom, I stop under the doorway as I notice Sonia hidden under the sheets, the fabric softly taking up the shape of her naked body.

  “Sonia?” I ask softly, and her body stirs under the sheets.

  In a second, her head is peeking from under the sheets. She tries to hide it, but there’s no bullshitting me—she’s been crying. Fuck me, she listened in on the conversation.

  “I’m sorry, Malcolm,” she sobs, bunching up the sheets with her two hands. “This is all my fault...I put you in this situation. If I hadn’t been this stupid…”

  “Hey, hey,” I start, rushing towards the bed and sitting on the edge of the mattress. “What are you talking about? Everything’s going to be alright. I promised you that, didn’t I?”

  “I know you did,” she replies, her voice weak and quivering. “But I don’t want to put you in danger... You’ve come so far to become legit, and now this stupid bullshit with the painting is putting all that on the line.”

  “Do you think I give a fuck about the painting?”

  “I know you don’t...I truly do. I know you love me, and I love you as well, Malcolm. And I know none of this is about the painting.”

  Gently, I reach for her and wipe the tears streaming down her face with my thumb. Tucking a stray lock of hair over her ear, I lean in and rest my lips on her forehead.

  “It was once...but that was until I realized I loved you,” I admit. “But now, that painting…that’s history, Sonia. I don’t care about it, and I sure as hell am happy to die without ever finding out what happened to it.”

  Sonia’s lip trembles as I continue.

  “Nothing or no one can ever take away my love for you, Sonia,” I tell her. “You mean more to me than anything else I’ve ever encountered in my life. No one else has ever or will ever mean more to me than you. Nothing else has ever been or shall be as important as you.”

  A single tear rolls down Sonia’s cheek as she looks at me with amazement.

  What? I may have been an asshole in the beginning, but I’m still a man capable of deep emotion. And all my energy, all my emotion, all of it is for Sonia at this point.

  “I know that, Malcolm. Truly,” she whispers softly, wrapping her arms around me and laying her head on my shoulders. “But you know it’s true... As long as that painting is hanging over our heads, we’ll never be happy.”

  “Says who?” I ask, frustration coating my words.

  I’ll be fucking damned if I’ll allow that painting to ruin what Sonia and I have. Shit, you can send the Four Horsemen of the fucking Apocalypse my way, and I’ll fucking throat-punch each and every one of them if that means I get to be with Sonia.

  “The world, Malcolm,” she whispers, fear in her words. “If we don’t find a solution, we’ll never have a day’s rest.”

  “Sonia...just let it go. I don’t care about it, and I’ll never ask you about it. What’s done is done. We’re together now, and that’s the only thing I care about.”

  She looks into my eyes for two long heartbeats, and I can almost see the gears turning inside her head. Even though I’ve almost fucking begged her to let it go, I know she won’t do it. In fact, I can see a fucking plan shaping up in her eyes.

  “Do you trust me, Malcolm?”

  “With my life,” I reply.

  Three words, but I have my whole being behind those words. I’d trust her with my life.

  “Then can you do
me a favor?”

  “Anything.”

  “Set up another condo meeting... Get all the tenants in the art gallery and tell them that the thief will return the painting.”

  “What the fuck are you talking about, Sonia?” I ask, having no idea what she’s planning.

  Does she still have the painting? I thought she had sold that shit a long time ago.

  But even if she has it...how the fuck is she planning on returning it? It’s fucking impossible to do that this late in the game.

  “Malcolm...you said you trusted me,” she whispers softly, and I can’t help but exhale sharply.

  “And I do... Are you sure of this?”

  “I am.” She nods, managing a weak smile.

  “I’ll set it up then,” I reply, not sure if that’s the right thing to do.

  I just hope she’s not planning on something as stupid as turning herself in. If that’s what’s on her mind, she can forget about it. I’ll kick every New York City cop in the face before I let that happen—including Detective fucking Strong.

  “Thank you.” She hugs me, her arms wrapped tight around my neck, and brings her lips up to my ear. “I’ll fix it for us…I promise. Then, when it all blows over, just come and meet me. Will you?”

  “Meet you?”

  “Yes…” she continues, caressing the nape of my neck. “It feels...heavy at Clarendon Tower. I just want to be with you after, somewhere none of this matters.”

  “Just tell me where, babe.”

  “The Grand Hyatt, Midtown. I have a suite there. But you need to meet me in the lobby... Will you come?”

  What an odd question for the love of my life to be asking me.

  “I’ll always come for you, baby.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Sonia

  I drum my fingers against my thigh, looking across Clarendon Tower’s art gallery as everyone starts gathering here. Just like he promised me, Malcolm set up a meeting with, not just the board association, but everyone living at Clarendon Tower.

  And, of course, even Detective Strong’s here.

  He’s fidgeting with his phone, and the permanent scowl on his face is there as well. Judging from his frown, I doubt he believes the painting will ever be returned...but he seems hellbent on making that happen, one way or the other.

  Well, game on, Detective.

  Catch me…if you can.

  After Malcom’s last press conference in the lobby, I’m actually surprised everyone showed up again. You’d think that people would grow tired of these things, but what do you know?

  Everyone loves some drama and spectacle, especially when it involves a multimillion dollar painting and someone like Malcolm Push.

  “Are you sure about this?” Kathy whispers into my ear, and I simply smile at her.

  I know she’s nervous as hell, but I know this is the right thing to do. She pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose with two fingers, then rubs her temples as if she could feel a headache already brewing there.

  “It’ll be fine,” I reply, gently laying one hand on her right shoulder and squeezing it. “It’s time for this story to end.”

  “Just promise me you won’t get caught. Don’t throw your life away, Sonia,” she asks me, and I can see the fear in her eyes. “We’ve came so far, and I don’t want everything to go up in flames.”

  “Don’t worry. The last thing on my mind is being caught.” I smile once more. “And I sure as hell don’t intend to throw my life away, Kathy. This has been fun, but it’s time to put an end to this chapter in our lives.”

  With one final nod, I turn on my heels and leave the art gallery. It’s almost six p.m., the time Malcolm set for the meeting, and almost everyone’s here.

  It’s showtime.

  Rushing to my apartment, I get rid of the dress I was wearing and change into my black leggings and tight-fitting shirt. after tying my hair into a bun, I then grab the black mask I used when I stole the Picasso and put it over my head. Taking one look at the full body mirror in my bedroom, I take one deep breath and nod at my reflection.

  One last performance.

  One last stunt.

  It feels kind of weird, in a way. This is the first time I’m donning all black and my goal has nothing to do with stealing something. In fact, it’s just the opposite.

  That’s love for you—sometimes it can make you do a full one-eighty degree turn.

  Now, wearing all black and as confident as ever, I leave the apartment. Making sure no one can see me, I take the service elevator downstairs.

  I look at my reflection in the elevator mirror and grin.

  “This is goodbye, you little thief,” I tell my reflection with a wink.

  It’s only fitting that I’m closing this chapter in my life by doing the craziest stunt ever attempted in the whole history of art theft.

  It’s almost like something out of a movie.

  Now on the ground floor, I carefully make my way through the maze of service corridors, all conveniently empty.

  I know Strong is expecting something to happen, and that he has eyes everywhere. It doesn’t really matter. Kathy made sure I knew all about it beforehand, so there’s no way I’ll be seen.

  At the end of one of the corridors, I see a man in a long beige overcoat whispering something to himself as he holds one finger against his ear. One of Strong’s men then. I do a fast right turn, stepping into one of the side corridors as the man turns toward me.

  Strong has peppered the whole crowd on the ground floor with undercover cops, but I know the place like the back of my hand.

  Not even God could lay his hands on me right now.

  Smiling to myself, I finally step inside the Art Gallery. I stand right behind the curtains separating the actual gallery from the portion of the room meant only for the staff.

  Taking a deep breath, I close my eyes for a whole second and then nod to myself.

  It’s time.

  Using an electric plier, I cut a few cables and kill the lights here. They work with motion sensors, and I don’t want to risk setting them off. Then, I push my back against the wall and let the shadows drape my body.

  Hidden from view, I scan the gallery and lock eyes with Kathy—she’s the only one who can see me, given that she knows exactly where to look for me.

  “Good luck,” she mouths silently, and I just grin.

  I make my own luck.

  But even though Kathy knows that, it doesn’t seem to help her. She’s tapping her foot on the floor, nervous as hell, and she’s constantly glancing at Detective Strong.

  She’s so afraid of being next to the detective that she’s actually standing as far away from him as possible. Not a big risk taker, my Kathy—and that’s exactly why we’ve pulled so many stunts together.

  In our little operation, she was the Yin to my Yang.

  Tonight, though, I need her in the thick of it.

  “And here he comes…” I whisper, biting my bottom lip as my man steps inside the gallery.

  Six p.m. sharp, Malcolm walks to the front of the crowd, the audience growing silent as he marches through the room. He looks slightly surprised not to see me there, but he doesn’t seem too concerned about that—he knows he can trust me.

  And I don’t intend to throw that trust away. This time, I’m gonna deliver on my promises, and I’m going to fix everything.

  “What’s all this about, Malcolm?” Peter asks, pushing his way to the front of the crowd. There’s a sneer on his face as he folds his arms over his chest and tries to stare Malcolm down. “Have you found the painting? Or is this just another one of your bullshit speeches?”

  At that, Malcolm simply stares back at Peter, not saying a thing. He has nothing to say as a reply, which means it’s time to set my plan into motion. Looking straight at Kathy, I give her a short nod and watch as she reaches inside her purse.

  A second later, every single light in the gallery goes dark.

  Being the little genius that she is, Kathy pro
grammed a small killswitch for the lights and installed it in the main electrical box of the building. And all that just a few minutes ago. With the push of a button, she killed the lights in the whole building.

  Which means it’s time I do my part.

  Reaching for the small satchel I have on my back, I grab two gray cans and set them on the floor. With the tip of my foot, I kick them across the room and grin as I watch the cans spinning between the feet of all the socialites in here.

  Just a few seconds later, thick clouds of smoke start taking over the gallery.

  Yup, that’s right—smoke grenades.

  As the smoke covers the whole room, I listen as everyone starts to panic.

  “The thief! He’s back!” I hear Peter scream, and I have to stop myself from laughing as he starts walking back and forth blindly, his hands in front of him as he tries to feel his way toward Detective Strong.

  The detective, though, is nowhere close to him.

  He has already moved to the main entrance of the gallery, more than ready to stop anyone he deems suspicious, and he’s busy listening to something on his earpiece.

  “Protect the paintings!” I hear a woman scream, her high-pitched voice climbing over the crowd’s noise.

  Some people are probably afraid the thief has returned to steal all the other paintings.

  Well, they’re right to think that the thief is back. She just hasn’t come back to steal anything.

  Not this time.

  Hidden by the smoke, I dash across the gallery unseen.

  I know that the fire detector in the gallery has been wired not to react to smoke immediately, since the sprinklers might damage the paintings. But that’s not a problem—even though the smoke grenades haven’t set off the fire detector, they provide the perfect cover for what I have to do next.

  See, on the wall opposite the one where I was standing, there’s a red panel labeled Fire Alarm - Use Only in Case of Emergency.

  Without thinking twice about it, I open the panel and pull the red lever.

  A split second later, the loud blare of an alarm fills the whole room, and I hear as the sprinklers on the ceiling come alive.